


Kiss it better

by mikaminato



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: After Black Panther 2018, Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, Black Panther Fix-It, Bottom T'Challa, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sex, T'Challa (Marvel) Feels, Top Killmonger, t'challa needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaminato/pseuds/mikaminato
Summary: “I’m sorry about your father. Despite everything, losing a daddy sucks, right?” Killmonger said all of sudden, breaking the silence. T’Challa blinked a few times, firstly because he was shocked by the man’s words, and then to blink away the tears that were filling his eyes. [T'Challa/Killmonger]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE BELLOW but please read it before proceeding:**
> 
> If you’ve seen the Black Panther movie, you know T’Challa and Erik are cousins. I didn’t make their relationship any different in this story, so if you get offended by that, don’t read it. If you’re comfortable, enjoy! :)
> 
> This story is set after Black Panther (2018). Just a fix-it because Killmonger was just so awesome and he deserves better. <3
> 
> Maybe I'll do a second chapter with a smut scene, I'm thinking about, lemme know what do you think as well haha ! :3 
> 
> I hope you guys like it, reviews and kudos are always welcome! :)

_“He’s alive.”_ That was all one of Dora Milaje told him before T’Challa felt like heart stopped and his breath was caught in his throat. He didn’t show how much those simple words affected him. He was a king and he needed to show strength and let emotions take over him was not something he should do, but even so, he _knew_ he was caught off-guard.

He has sent the Dora Milaje right after his fight with Killmonger to collect his body. T’Challa wanted to give him a proper burial. That was the least he could do, since he didn’t want to make the same mistakes his father did with his uncle. T’Challa knew, deep down, that the monster that lived deep inside Erik was born and grew inside the man thanks to the choices of the king T’Chaka, and even if there was nothing he could do to make things right, at least he wanted to give him a proper funeral. But then, Ayo came to him, a neutral expression on her face, announcing Erik was still breathing. Weakly, but there was still a sparkle of life on his soul.

The king didn’t know if he did the right choice by sending him to Shuri to treat his wounds, because the man himself had said he didn’t want to be alive if that meant living like a criminal and spending the rest of his life in jail or like a prisoner. But then, T’Challa acted on his instincts, hoping, _wishing_ he would be fine. After the adrenaline vanished from his body and he rested on his bed, the king couldn’t help but wonder if he ever was going to he able to think straight and stop allowing the emotions take the best out of him. He knew, deep down, rescuing Killmonger probably was not the best decision to Wakanda. That was probably a horrible choice. The situation was painfully paradoxical. Even if Wakanda was the one that created the monsters inside Killmonger, the people who lived in the country had nothing to do with the bad choices of its rulers. T’Challa understood Erik’s pain. His wrath, his desire for revenge, his rage, his hurt. All the anger inside him, he didn’t blame him at all.

He knew how it felt like, having the most important person of his life taken away from him all of sudden. In Erik’s case, when he was only a child. He still closed his eyes and saw Vienna. Every time he tried to sleep, the nightmares haunted him, and the tears still blurred his eyes on lonely nights, even if T’Challa tried so hard to get over it and go on, telling himself that was life’s natural course and his father was fine, life was going to be ok and he was strong.

Trying to fool himself has become a habit he had become good at, because now there was more important things to worry about. The people of Wakanda, his position as a king, the Black Panther, keeping his family safe. And whether he wanted or not, people would always compare him to his father. People will always try to debunk him, because T’Chaka never faltered. T’Chaka was always strong and he never acted on his emotions. He was kind, but never merciful with his enemies.

Once again, T’Challa let the emotional side of him win over the rational side. But then again, even if he wanted to keep his father’s legacy, he wanted to make things different. Because even if Wakanda was strong, even if they had all the tech most countries could only dream about, even if they could live in peace most of the time, Killmonger was a livid proof some things were just _wrong_. And wrong things couldn’t just be ignored.

Maybe, Erik will hate him when he wakes up and find out he had survived and T’Challa saved him. It was a risk he was willing to take, maybe for his own selfish reasons, maybe to give him a bit a peace he knew he needed to have. T’Challa was sure Erik was going to kill him back then if he had a chance, but part of him didn’t blame him for all the rage boiling inside him, afterall T’Challa was the son of the man who murdered his father. And he was the king of the country that had all the available sources but still turned their backs for all the problems of the world. Nakia, even though in smaller proportions, also believed Wakanda was selfish when it came to sharing all they had. Maybe they were right, and it was about time to do things different. T’Challa was tired to live up to people’s expectations even if he wasn’t a king for a long time yet. He was going to have to explain why he saved Killmonger, why did he wanted to help other countries all of sudden, what he was going to do with the man, _why_ he was going to send Nakia do the USA when he just said he wanted her to stay just some days ago. So many questions to answer and the king wasn’t even sure he had all of them, but he just… felt like he neededto do something do calm his mind, calm his consciousness. They always bragged about being one step ahead everyone, but when it came to humanity, were they, though? After people got hurt because of their lack of humanity and got consumed by revenge, like Erik and W’Kabi, could T’Challa or anyone of Wakanda blame them? Maybe his decisions ended up hurting even more people, but in the end of the day, T’Challa only wanted to be able to close his eyes and have a good night of sleep, with a peaceful consciousness and sure that he did everything he could.

Four days after Ayo found Erik, his wounds were a lot better and he was provided a temporary room. Aneka and Okoye were taking turns guarding the place from some distance, even if T’Challa insisted it wasn’t necessary, because Shuri inserted a heat sensor that was synced to the king and Okoye’s kiyomos and they would know if anyone enter and left the room, but the Dora Milaje insisted. The man was still in deep sleep and Shuri and some Wakandan doctors said it was normal because of his injuries it was taking longer for his body to recover, but the king was restless. The need to talk and explain himself was driving him insane. He was in the middle of a meeting when he received a message from Okoye, announcing Erik was awake. T’Challa immediately tensed and ended the briefing, saying there was an urgent situation that demanded his total attention. The other three UN men just stared at him, taken aback by T’Challa’s hurry. They probably thought it was a life-threatening situation that required the Black Panther presence, so they didn’t question. T’Challa all but practically _ran_ to Erik’s room, mutely asking Okoye to step away. The guard’s expression was blank, but the king knew she was reluctant on leaving him alone with the other man. After a few seconds, she knew his orders were not to be questioned so she left, not looking back.

T’Challa knocked two times on the door, before opening it slowly.

Erik was sitting on his bed, glancing at the window, watching the vast trees of the Wakanda forest. The view outside the window was beautiful, the waterfall was big, and the forest was dense. The wind was blowing, making the leaves dance and get wet with droplets of water. The man didn’t look, but seemed to know it was him.

“The view here is beautiful too.” The tone was low, but T’Challa heard it. It had come out hoarse, probably due to lack of use, and a bit emotionless.

“Yes, the medical team thinks the view may help the people who are under treatment.” The king explained. “We are planning on-”

“I thought you had understood I didn’t want to live.” The voice wasn’t angry or accusatory, but T’Challa sensed the discontentment Killmonger felt. “I told you not to do anything.”

The king bit his lip. A vulnerable act he only allowed himself to do in front of his Baba or when he was just a kid, when he didn’t have all those responsibilities or burdens on his back. He didn’t know if it was due to the lack of anger on the olther man’s voice or because Erik didn’t burst like he thought he would, but T’Challa was suddenly feeling exposed and uncomfortable. He was taken by an odd need to explain himself and justify his actions, as if he just did something very wrong, an unthinkable sin. Was depriving someone who was willing to die that wrong? He did it before, when Zemo tried to kill himself back in Siberia, though the situation was completely different. Zemo did a lot of bad things, he was the one who killed his Baba, killed innocent people, and then tried to get away by killing himself. T’Challa just did what he thought it was right: he handed the man to the task force and now he was paying for his crimes at the Raft. But Erik was different. It just didn’t seem fair to just leave the man to die when odds were screaming at him the second chance they had given him. T’Challa knew he had an extremely difficult situation ahead. That wasn’t just about dealing with the way the man was going to react regarding on how T’Challa just made the decision of his life for him, but also, he still needed to deal with the leaders of the wakandan tribes who didn’t react well about the news of the king saving Killmonger, afterall, the man didn’t have the best of intentions when he firstly came to the country. He still needed to think about these things, but, first things first.

“I-” T’Challa opened his mouth, pushing the urge to apologize aside. “You did not deserve do die that way.” He said quietly. “Everybody deserves a second chance.”

Erik snorted. “I didn’t need a damn chance. I just wanted to die in peace. I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my days in prison, like a wanted person, some things are worse than death, can’t you see that? And you won’t even let me have that!” The voice came out a little bit louder, but not strong enough to sound like a yell, but T’Challa wished he had screamed and punched him instead. He diverted his eyes to the waterfall outside the big window and took a deep breath.

“I know how you feel, and I know you have all the right to feel angry.” The king tried once again. “I also lost my father and I wanted to kill the man who took him away from me. I was so consumed by revenge that I didn’t care who was in front of me. I just wanted justice. And justice to me back then was killing the one who murdered him. I was so angry that I almost killed the wrong man—” T’Challa faltered, his voice breaking a little. He closed his hands into fists and sighed. “Anyway, I know you are angry. You can punch me, you can blame me, but these people of Wakanda have nothing to do with the wrong choices of mine or your father.”

Erik opened his mouth to protest but T’Challa cut him. “Your father told Klaue about the vibranium and a lot of people got hurt and died because of that, including W’Kabi’s parents. My father was not the only one who did wrong things in the past, but… We are not our fathers, N’Jadaka. I am not my father.”

The other man stood silent for a while, seeming to study the king’s features. His face was blank, but there was a hint of curiosity on that T’Challa could see. Killmonger smirked.

“Really?” He asked, “So what are you going to do, then? Play the savior, shelter a criminal and say everything is going to be alright then, your Highness? This is not how life works. You have people to please, expectations to fulfill and I’m damn sure your people won’t be pleased by you playing the good neighborhood policy all of sudden.” Killmonger’s eyes were defiant and sparkled dangerously, leaving T’Challa uncomfortable. The king diverted his eyes from the other man and suppressed the need to sigh, because he was just verbalizing his fears, which was not helping one bit on his anxiety. 

“I know.” He agreed, “I know I have a lot of responsabilities as a king. But… above all, I need to do what I think it’s right as a human being. I don’t think what my father did was right. He should have—” T’Challa once again faltered, and he briefly had the mental image of Okoye mocking him for freezing so many times in front of someone. “He should have dealt with things differently, it didn’t matter he was a king, he was—”

 _He was a human above all,_ that was what T’Challa wanted to say, but wasn’t sure he should. He grew up looking up to his father, and never once questioned his capability or decisions. He shouldn’t start now that he wasn’t alive to defend himself. And now, looking back to what king T’Chaka had done, T’Challa wondered if he ever was going to be able to be a king as good as his father, because he knew he could never ignore those in need of help. Maybe the emotional side of him was his weakness, but at the same time, it was the part that was going to make him stronger, leading Wakanda to a different path for the first time, because turning their backs to the ones who needed them was not being strong; it was showing a selfish side T’Challa couldn’t stand. T’Chaka was a human who made a big mistake. T’Challa probably was going to make a million ones himself, and saving Erik may be one of them, but it didn’t matter in the end. His father had once said victory in expense of innocents, was not victory at all. Wasn’t Erik just an innocent child back then? An innocent child who just lost his father and was rejected by the nation that he always dreamed of knowing? _It hurt._ Because T’Challa knew how it felt like. Not only the pain of losing a father, but the crushing feeling inside the heart when nothing else mattered and nothing seemed worthy or colorful enough. When you prayed not to wake up anymore and life didn’t seem enjoyable, _nothing_ was sadder than that. Maybe T’Challa was selfish and deprived Erik the right he had to die. He chose that, after all, but even so, there was still that stupid part of his brain, or maybe heart, that told him that he still could make things right and not everything was lost.

“It doesn’t matter, anymore.” Erik brought him back from his thoughts. His voice was nicer and calmer now. “This is part of the past now, and we can’t change it. We should be able to move on with our lives.”

T’Challa was silent at that. That phrase was so simple, and Erik probably didn’t know, but it had a lot of different meanings to T’Challa, each of them more painful than the other. Moving on was difficult. It was just so much easier to just be stuck in the past and live inside a bubble, with the ghost of his father still haunting him. Of course, his death was still pretty fresh on his mind and memory, but still, he always thought he was stronger than that. He was raised to be a king. He knew that time would come, but the presence of his father, his knowledge, his warmth, his smile, his laugh, his old jokes and stories… T’Challa didn’t know how nor if he wanted to live without all of that. He still had his Mama, Shuri and a lot of people he cared about, but deep down, he knew no one knew how it felt like, because they both shared a special bond since T’Challa was a kid, and T’Chaka knew exactly how hard it was to be a king, and never once he showed he was having a hard time keeping up with the expectations people placed on his back. T’Challa thought his Baba would be alive to witness him become a king, and he would be alive to give him the best advices, but in the end, despite being always surrounded by people, T’Challa felt more alone than never, because deep down, he knew he was stuck with the presence of his father. The longing, the hurt, the pain. _Vienna_.

“I’m sorry about your father. Despite everything, losing a daddy sucks, right?” Killmonger said all of sudden, breaking the silence. T’Challa blinked a few times, firstly because he was shocked by the man’s words, and then to blink away the tears that were filling his eyes.

He rubbed them with his sleeves, feeling embarrassed to be showing weakness in front of the other man and walked to the window by the edge of the bed, feeling restless by Erik’s eyes on him.  “We can never be ready enough.” T’Challa said hoarsely.

“There’s no shame in crying, you know. I cried when I met my dad in the ritual.” The revelation also caught T’Challa off-guard, making something inside the king hurt. He didn’t have the guts to ask the man the reasons behind his tears, maybe because it was a personal question, maybe because deep down he knew those tears meant longing, meant pain and hurt.

“It’s just… It seems there are more things to worry about in the moment.” T’Challa said quietly, not realizing how much his voice came out affected. “I—Are you hungry? Did they bring you any food? How are you feeling?” The king tried to change the subject, finally looking up and glancing at the man sitting on the bed. He was shirtless, and he didn’t seem to have any bruises on his body, only some scratches around his torso.

“’m fine. Perfectly fine, actually. I’d get the hell out of here if I didn’t know your little squad wouldn’t come running after me.” Erik rolled his eyes and cracked his neck.

T’Challa chuckled. “Only Aneka and Okoye are around here, because they insisted. I am not treating you like a criminal, at least not until you give me a reason to.” Erik arched his eyebrow. 

“Why not?”

The king suppressed the need to sigh. “Does it need to be a reason? I mean, I told you that—”

“I know damn well what you told me. But I’m telling you didn’t need to! I made my decision but now I’m here, unable to have a free will thanks to you!”

T’Challa crossed the distance between them and grabbed both Erik’s shoulders. “How can you be so stupid? Your father did everything he could to protect you! He betrayed Wakanda and his own brother to be with you and your mother, and now you want to give up the life he cherished so easily? Is that your way of showing gratitude? He’s not here anymore, but you are, and you can do things differently! We can, even if our fathers can not! We are not sure of what is going to happen until we are dead, and if you are here, you can be sure there is a reason for it! Stop thinking so little about yourself and stop depreciating the life your father fought so much to keep!” The anger vanished as fast as it came, as tears rolled down T’Challa’s face., though he didn’t know if for Erik or for his own selfish reasons.

Despite being different, they were at the same time very similar. Two broken men, desperate for something to fulfill the emptiness inside their hearts. T’Challa tried to busy his thoughts with work, while Killmonger was slowly consumed by dark thoughts. Each of them tried to be complete in their own wrong way, not knowing that kicking the can down the road would only make things worse, to themselves and to the people around them. Wasn’t that better than the horrible emptiness or the excruciating pain though? But... even so, maybe that was being an adult was like. Having to face the pain with the maturity of a grown-up person and not an insecurity of a child. The grip grew lighter and weaker, T’Challa’s face fell forward and before he knew, he was sobbing, his body shaking shamelessly. His knees gave up and he was falling to the ground, but felt strong arms around him, and his body was brought to the soft bed. A hand was resting on his shoulder, rubbing the place affably and the touch comforted him in a way words would never do. T’Challa couldn’t help but think how ironic the situation was, because just some days ago, both were ready to kill each other, but now the touch was warm and welcome, making him feel somewhat calmer and a little better than he had felt in a while. Maybe because he was aware Erik knew the pain of losing a father, or maybe because the touch of a broken person like him felt more truthful than any other touch, but T’Challa felt the urge to snuggle closer to him like a cat desperate for affection. He bit his lip tightly to suppress another sob to escape, as Killmonger wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hugging the other man and the warmth embraced him completely. And the touch had so many hidden meanings T’Challa almost felt dizzy.

 _I’m sorry that you had to go thro_ ugh this.

_It wasn’t your fault._

_I miss my father._

_What am I supposed to do now?_

_Sometimes I just want to disappear._

He knew Erik understood how he felt, and that meant a lot to T’Challa. It didn’t matter they just met some days ago, or that they still probably had some animosity between them, but deep down, while completely different, they were totally the same.

“I’m sorry, I—” T’Challa tried to speak after a while, voice still affected, wiping his eyes on his hand. “I should go and let you rest. I will come back tomorrow, if you want to.” The king said, trying to move away from the other man’s embrace.

Their eyes met briefly, and T’Challa still felt his face wet from the tears he had been pouring moments ago. The other man’s face was unreadable for a few seconds, before his fingers rested on his cheeks, wiping them and making T’Challa’s heart race.

What the hell was happening?

Before he could ask though, soft lips were against his own, warm and inviting. At first it wasn’t nothing more than a brush of their mouths, but he was sure Erik heard him gasp in surprise. His eyes widened at the sudden touch, but the king couldn’t suppress the delighted sigh as the hands that were previously on his cheek slid down and pressed on his waist. Erik spread kisses to T’Challa’s lips, barely believing in the unreal softness of his mouth, feeling the king’s breath racing rapidly. A wet pink tongue poked T’Challa’s lips, while he still was caught in between shock and delight.

“Open your mouth, T’Challa.” N’Jadaka asked, face still pressed against T’Challa’s. His voice was hoarse, and the king _loved_ the way his name sounded on the man’s lips. He closed his eyes and parted his lips, allowing Killmonger’s wet tongue invade his hot cave, seeking his own pink muscle daringly, caressing it like they had been doing that for a good while, making a shiver run all over his body, his fingers tightening around the other man’s shoulder. Erik felt the king melt in his arms by the touch, his hands coming up to his back, gently massaging the back of his neck as he bowed his face, his tongue searching every corner of the king's mouth, proving, testing his sanity.

T’Challa kissed the other man more avidly, taken by a hunger he didn’t even know he had, biting on his mouth, letting his tongue run down his lips, making Erik moan through the kiss. The hand that was caressing his neck ran down and entered the fabric of his shirt, scratching the silky skin deliciously, making the king gasp against the other man’s mouth and squeeze his shoulders. When they were both out of air in their lungs, Erik lazily pulled away, still placing soft kisses on his lips, hot breath touching his mouth.

And they were both panting, the cheeks flushed and the lips swollen.

The other man looked at the king and smirked at the way he was blushing.

“I’m not very good with words, but I know sometimes touches can be comforting too.” He explained. “Never thought your Highness would look so cute though, all blushing and embarrassed.”

T’Challa looked away. “What are you talking about?! I am not blushing, and also, we are not supposed to be doing this, we are cousins.”

Erik widened his eyes for a few seconds, seeming to have forgotten about that, but only shrugged, seeming uunconcerned about the fact. “What a dysfunctional family, huh?” He joked, smiling a little. T’Challa couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head.  

“I have to go, I have an important meeting now. In fact, I am fifteen minutes late now.” He said, glancing at his beeping kiyomo.

Erik nodded, letting go of the king.

“I—I won’t promise you freedom, it is not up only to me, but at least I can try exile, or something that won’t be that horrible for you. I am harboring three international fugitives and Wakanda had to accept that. I am no God, but at least I am sure I have some influence.” T’Challa smiled, thinking briefly of Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson and Sergeant Barnes.

“Of course, I’m not done comforting you.” Erik teased, amused by the way T’Challa blushed, “Kiss me goodbye?”

The king leaned in and joined their lips in a shy kiss, with a promise to come back later. Maybe T’Challa would regret about his decision later, and maybe he was the king who was going to let his emotions take over his rational part, but that was ok if that meant resting his head on his pillow and having a good night of sleep, because he was sticking with the things he believed that were right, and helping people was never too much. And if he had arms wrapped around him, even better.

 


	2. Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Since sharing the same bed with the king every once in a while, Erik realized T’Challa had a lot of nightmares." [ERIK/T'CHALLA]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was going to post in a few days, but when creativity hits you, you need to seize it lol. 
> 
> This chapter is written on Erik's POV most of the time. AND SMUT SCENE AHEAD. 
> 
> Thanks a lot everyone for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. It means a lot to me! :)

A restless shifting, followed by disturbed whimpers woke Erik from his sleep. He grimaced a bit and tried to focus his vision through the darkness. The bed was becoming familiar to him: The soft sheets, the hugeness, the fluff pillows, the royalty of the room— All of that was part of his routine since T’Challa saved his life, even if he didn’t want to back then. Not only that, but also… The nightmares. Since sharing the same bed with the king every once in a while, Erik realized T’Challa had a lot of nightmares. Sometimes he would cry in his sleep, grumbling disconnected words; sometimes he would wake up screaming, while shaking and sweating. The first time it happened, it was after the third time they slept in the same bed. Just like this time, Killmonger was woken up by the restlessness and the constant whimpering. He was a bit startled by that at first, but he just gently shook T’Challa awake. Tears wet his silky skin and his forehead was cold, while his eyes kept unfocused for a few moments. As soon as the king realized he was having a nightmare and remembered he wasn’t alone, he got extremely embarrassed to be in such vulnerable state in front of N’Jadaka, of all people, but the man just caressed his arm, muttering everything was fine now. He didn’t ask about his troubled dreams, he didn’t push him to talk either, just hugged the man, trying to calm him with the warmth of his body.

Erik knew T’Challa’s nightmares had something to do with Vienna and the death of his father, because even if he didn’t talk about it very often, T’Challa always got emotional while talking about T’Chaka. Erik didn’t blame him at all. Not for his pain, not for the mistakes his father had done in the past. He just wondered how different the king was when he wasn’t in front of people, when he didn’t have to pretend to be strong or he didn’t have to act or keep his shields on. Even if that man was the one who ruled a nation – and probably it was for the best that it had been T’Challa, after all – sometimes Erik saw the same scared, broken child he once was back in the USA, when he entered his home and found his dad lying lifeless on the floor. The tears were probably the same, even if the situation was different. They were real, raw and painful, to both. But Erik didn’t have to pretend to be strong to anyone. He knew keeping feelings inside the heart only made things worse, and T’Challa was probably on verge of breaking.

Erik wanted to break him, not too long ago. He wanted to see T’Challa fall. Beg; die even, because back then, the pureness of the man seemed unworthy and weak to rule a whole nation, especially a country who had all tech and resources Wakanda had. T’Challa seemed the personification of the perfect man, with a perfect family who didn’t know what suffering meant. A king, above all, needed to face pain, death and grief to become strong enough to endure the burden, at least that was Erik thought. And looking at T’Challa… He saw none of those. He only saw perfection, refinement and politeness when he stared at the man.

But in the end, T’Challa was kind, merciful, selfless, but above all, he was _broken_ inside. Back then, Erik would never have thought the king T’Chaka’s death had such effect on the man, but after their fight, little by little T’Challa allowed him to see him without his mask of perfection and strength.

The king was devastated.

Seeing T’Challa grieving over the loss of his father made Erik wonder about his capacity to hold on when he was falling apart on the inside. It took a lot of strength for someone to be able to do that, because nothing was sadder than smile when you want to cry. And even if he tried so hard to hide it, T’Challa cried, especially on the inside. The king cried with his heart, because he knew no one should see the tears on his face.

But no one can control the subconscious, and sometimes he would let go while sleeping. T’Challa always got uncomfortable when Erik witnessed him having a breakdown, but, even if Erik was probably never going to mention that to the other man, it only made him respect him, even more than before.

More than anyone, N’Jadaka understood how the man felt. He knew the pain of losing your greatest anchor, the pain of losing the person who was always there to give you the best advices and make sure you believed everything was going to be fine, even if it wasn’t true, because sons believed in their fathers.

Even if T’Chaka made a mistake by abandoning Erik, he understood T’Challa had nothing to do with the bad choices of the previous king. More than that, he was trying to make things right. For the first time since arriving Wakanda, or maybe for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind giving up on his convictions. That was probably for the best, to all of them. The points of view were not the same, and they still disagreed a lot, especially when it came to politics but, even so… Erik had monsters inside him and he knew it was good to surround himself with good people. People who made him a better person, people who pushed him or _challenged_ him, even. T’Challa was all of that, and above all, a good man. A man who always looked up to his father, but even so was able to see the mistakes he had made and was trying to fix them. A man that always saw T’Chaka as the kind of king, a _man_ he always wanted to be, but seemed angry with him for leaving Erik alone.

He knew T’Challa didn’t have to apologize for someone else’s mistakes, but still, the pain on his eyes was clear on their first meeting. He didn’t understand quite well, the empathy, the mercy or the compassion, but he wasn’t an ungrateful person. He wanted to die back then, because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life living like a prisoner, adding even more reasons for his father to be ashamed of him, but T’Challa was kind and didn’t allow him to die. More than that, he seemed truly offended by his lack of will to live; the life his father gave his life to protect. That was the first time Erik wanted things had been different back then.

He wondered how things could be hadn’t he made all the wrong choices, even with best intentions. Maybe he didn’t have to live secluded, or maybe he would be able to have a good life in Wakanda, building bonds with the rest of the family, making friends, but it didn’t matter anyway. Because it wasn’t worth it spending the rest of his life dreaming or waiting for things that would never happen, or how things could have been; living only on assumptions and "what ifs". But still, he couldn’t deny life had been better than he first had expected, thanks to T’Challa, who was fulfilling his promise and not treating him like a criminal so far.

Erik had realized even if he was always surrounded by people who seemed to worship him, the king was lonely and needy. The hugs were longer than normal, and the grip on his shoulder was always tight, especially after a nightmare. Slowly, T’Challa was allowing Erik to embrace him after a bad dream, while he tried to soothe his trembling. Sometimes Erik would whisper comforting words, but most of the time, he just wrapped his arms around the other man. Erik even shared a couple of stories of his childhood after those moments to try to make T’Challa stop thinking about Vienna, and surprisingly, he didn’t mind. It felt bittersweet and nostalgic, and that was probably T’Challa felt towards his father too; a bittersweet feeling that they both had to get used to, because it was never going to go away. The scar was going to last forever, and even when it didn’t hurt anymore, it would always be there, to remind them the ghost of the traumatic losses of their fathers, because murder was just damn unfair. It made Erik think that even if they were in a world full of superheroes, fairytales indeed didn’t exist outside of books.

They didn’t exist, but even so—there were some things people could do to make life more bearable, especially sharing feelings. Not only the good ones, but the bad ones too.

“T’Challa.” He shook the man beside him, not forcefully but hard enough to try to wake him up. “T’Challa… wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

The king’s features were troubled, even through the darkness of the room. His forehead was shining a thin line of sweat despite the cool weather of air conditioner.

“T’Challa!” Erik tried once again, finally being welcomed by the black, unfocused eyes. “Shhh, look at me, T’Challa.”

The smaller man glanced around the room, seeming a bit lost and blinked a few times, meeting the other man’s serious face.

“C’mere, T’Challa,” Erik asked, touching the cool skin and laying beside him once again. “It’s alright.”

A sob echoed through the room, muffled by Erik warm skin. He raised his hand to caress T’Challa’s hair, bringing his lips to the wet forehead, kissing the place softly. T’Challa’s arms wrapped tightly around Killmonger’s waist, strong enough to leave marks, still shaking against the strong body. The other man slid his hand down the king’s neck, scratching it lightly with his nails, stopping at his back, massaging the place while murmuring everything was ok as T’Challa’s cry got more unstable.

Erik knew it was probably going to take a while for the other man to stop having nightmares about Vienna and everything that followed the disaster. He also was sure T’Challa didn’t mention the dreams to anyone, even if he was clearly suffering from PTSD. There were always more important things for the king to worry; his responsibilities, the Black Panther, _Wakanda_ , his duty as an international leader… So many things his own problems got the last place on T’Challa’s list of priorities. He didn’t know if they knew each other long enough for Erik to say that to the man, but, he couldn’t deny it hurt to see him so broken, even if ironically some time ago Erik wanted to kill him. There was nothing else he could do but embrace his pain and sorrow, hoping he was soothing a bit of them.

After a while, T’Challa’s breathing was calmer and his tears stopped, but the embrace was still tight. Not that Erik minded, not at all. He also was warmer, and the trembling had stopped.

“I—I’m sorry.” T’Challa whispered, face buried on the other man’s neck.

Erik shook his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, stupid. Just… breathe.”

T’Challa sighed and nodded.

“Since my father died, no one has been in my bed.” He started, lips tickling Erik’s skin while moving. “Actually, long before he died. But still, I… was not able to let anyone see me in such shameful situation.”

“Crying is not a shame, I already told you. Especially not for the reasons you cry. You don’t have to talk about it, but it’s not very difficult to conclude what your nightmares are about.” N’Jadaka said, while rubbing his back affably.

“I am trying to be strong now, for Mama, for Shuri… Wakanda needs its king, you know? I just wished I was stronger that that.” T’Challa’s voice was low, but full of sentiments that made something inside Erik hurt. A brand-new heartbreaking feeling he didn’t even know he was able to feel.

Maybe that was empathy felt like, he thought.

“You _are_ strong. You suffer in silence, you endure all the pain-- and this is almost godlike, y’know? In the end of the day, it’s not the happiness that makes us human, but the sorrow. In this world of aliens falling from the sky and enhanced beings, I think the feelings is all we have to remind us that this is real life.”

T’Challa looked up and met Erik’s eyes. They stood in silence until T’Challa kissed him briefly.

“That was beautiful.” He commented. “I thought you said you were not good with words.”

Erik smirked. “I’m not. But you know what they say, _words are the most powerful weapon_. Infact, I'm horrible with words, but when you suck at something, you gotta work on that weakness, so people won’t see your soft spot."

T’Challa smiled a little. “If you are bad with words and you say such things, soon you will be writing poetry. That would be interesting.”

Erik shook his head, also smiling.

“That’s not gonna happen. Like… never.” Killmonger laughed briefly, “Did you even listen to your words and how absurd they are? Asking me to write poetry is probably the same as asking the Hulk to play with dolls while wearing a pink dress.”

T’Challa finally laughed, shaking a little against Erik’s body.

“Don’t be so dramatic. You said you liked to challenge yourself, that is a great challenge to you.”

“I won’t promise, though. The only thing I can promise is that I’m trying to make you smile.” N’Jadaka probably said it without thinking, because he immediately tensed against T’Challa, but in the end, he didn’t mind. Not when the king met his face with a beaming smile, despite his slightly puffy eyes.

“You are.” T’Challa assured. “Making me happy.”

Erik didn’t mention the other man had distorted his words, because in the end, the sparkle was beautiful on his eyes, and deep down, even if Erik was never going to admit, they weren’t a lie.

And then, almost like waking up from a dream, none of them were paying attention to their surroundings, nothing else mattered but one another. Erik leaned over the smaller man, searching his lips, feeling the king melt in his arms. A small smile sprang on Erik's lips as he stroked his sides, stopping at his waist. T'challa pulled away briefly, also offering him an almost amused smile, wrapping his arms possessively around his neck, bringing him closer so he could kiss him again. Sensing the king's delicious tongue, Erik held a satisfied sigh, his nostrils being slowly filled by his unique and delicious scent.

“You smell damn good…” Erik commented against his lips, and T’Challa didn’t miss the wanton tone of his voice. The king smirked.

“You don’t smell so bad yourself.” T’Challa said, nibbling on Erik’s lower lip, making the other man utter a small moan.

The older man’s long fingers touched king's exposed skin, delighted by the softness of his body. From his waist, he slid to T’Challa’s bare chest, caressing the place boldly, satisfied for the warmth that he was emanating. Erik felt him hold his breath as he brushed his nails against his nipple. Almost smiling at the reactions he caused on the man, he slid a little further until he reached the man’s belly button. Erik laid the the king on his back on the soft mattress, trailing a path all over the his abdomen with his saliva, feeling T’Chall’s breath get more and more heavier. The sounds of his lips against the warm skin were sending spasms to T’Challa’s lower half, as he threw his head back when Erik’s fingers pinched one of his nipples, squeezing the sensitive flesh, feeling it harden. The king gently caressed Erik’s head, encouraging him to continue his touches, which were slowly driving him crazy. He was so absorbed in his own pleasure he couldn't suppress the surprised yelp that escaped his lips when Erik pulled him closer and crashed their mouths together, and T’Challa didn’t hesitate to deepen the contact, seeking Erik’s tongue avidly. Still kissing him, Erik leaned more and more over the other man until he was practically on his lap, leaving the king helpless. After all what could he do but accept Erik sitting on his lap and make suggestive movements?

And T’challa knew that that attitude meant Erik wanted that as much as he did. He rested his hand on Erik’s back, caressing the place subtly, running all the way down his spine, tilting his head so Erik could kiss all over his jaw, numb by the other man’s smell. The king’s eyes were closed, focused on the kisses that were being distributed on his neck, while his own hands were still busy caressing Erik’s naked torso. When T’Challa felt his tongue nibbling at his earlobe, he couldn’t suppress a louder moan, feeling the temperature of the room rise too quickly. The older man sucked on the skin of the smaller man’s neck, delighted by in the moans that were poured on his ear.

T’Challa took advantage of their position to spread kisses on Erik’s shoulders, smirking when he felt him rummage on his lap, moving to the side of the bed so he could rub his hand roughly over T’Challa’s pants, hearing him held his breath. The younger man’s closed eyes tightened as Erik’s hand squeezed his cock over his clothes, making a satisfied smile to sprout on Killmonger’s lips. Erik moved so he was between the king’s legs, pulling his pants down slowly, wanting to photograph every trace of skin and curves of the other man with his eyes. T’Challa’s legs weren’t bulky. They had a normal thickness for a man, but they were touch sensitive and rounded. Erik liked to slide his hands through his thighs because they were soft and the absence of hair fascinated him, especially because the king had a soft-spot at the junction between his thighs and buttocks, so he always made sure to spread a lot of kisses on that place.

Just like he was doing in that very moment.

A loud gasp escaped T’Challa’s parted lips as the other man bit his already marked skin. They never left marks on places people could see, but Erik just _loved_ seeing those purple spots on the king’s skin. It gave him a strange sense of possessiveness, a feeling that increased every time T’Challa moaned, needy and desperate. And Erik  _loved_ the king’s moans. He usually tried to control them, but he always ended up being loud and uncontrolled, and Killmonger liked to know he had ability to get maddening reactions from T’Challa.

When he was finally free from the black boxer, the younger man sighed in relief, eyes still closed as desire erupted inside him. Slowly Erik ran his fingers up to his half-awakened erection, starting to pump it in a slow and excruciating speed. The older man stood up a little, so he could explore his exposed chest, pleased to hear T’Challa whimper at the feeling of his hot, wet mouth slipping over him. When his lips closed on one of the king’s nipples, he arched his back slightly, lips parting. Erik looked up, almost moaning at the sinful sight of a completely flushed T’Challa, who rolled his eyes in pleasure, dizzy by the hickeys and licks Erik posted on his sweated skin, feeling his body desperately ask for a more intimate contact, but apparently, he had completely lost the ability to formulate coherent words.

Erik’s face moved to the south, still kissing the velvety skin, until his chin brushed lightly on T’Challa’s hard member. He smiled furtively, deciding to engulf it completely, knowing that he was also aching for that member who seemed to beg for release. A languid moan escaped T’Challa’s lips and he brought his hands to his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop them.

Erik’s movements on his cock were fast and strong, and T’Challa twitched in pleasure, also moving his hips against Killmonger’s hot mouth, completely out of his mind. He eagerly massaged the king’s balls, as the groans intensified and filled the room completely. He knew he was driving T’Challa’s crazy, and he loved that idea. He was sure he was completely gone when hot cum filled his mouth, the thick liquid squirting from his cock as Erik kept sucking him, trying to prolong the hot sensation of his orgasm.

Erik laid on top of T’Challa and kissed his lips, and even if the other man was still numb by his orgasm, he promptly tangled their tongues together, waging a delightful battle for dominance, which, Erik easily won. The king’s hands went to the middle his back, _caressing_ the uncovered skin, until he scratched his nails on the waistband of his pants, trying to pull the fabric down. Erik understood the other’s mute request and knelt on the bed, pulling the rest of his clothes down, along with his white boxer, revealing his fully awakened erection. T’Challa couldn’t help but smirk at how obviously turned on the man was, feeling strangely cocky to know N’Jadaka was hard just by touching him.

“Open your legs, your Highness.” Killmonger’s voice was needy and husky and T’CHalla immediately complied.

Erik buried his face between his well-defined thighs and touched his entrance with his tongue. The other man felt a shiver run all over his body, as he closed his eyes tightly. Erik made circular movements on his hole and massaged T’Challa’s testicles, delighted by the other man’s moans. Without interrupting the contact, he brought his own hand to the king’s mouth, who began to suckle his fingers sensually, licking, scratching them with his teeth.

Their eyes met, dark, clouded with lust. None of them had to say anything. The desire was there, obvious and urgent, but at the same time, he there was a sparkle of trust and complicity that always made things better.

T’Chala had never been with a man before Killmonger and never thought about it, but now he could only think of how good it felt to have his body wrapped by strong arms—How good it was to _let go,_ not only emotionally, but physically.

Erik forced a wet finger against T’Challa’s hole, listening to him gasp at the contact. The second finger made the king grimace, a slightly painful whimper escaping his lips. Erik kissed his inner thighs while scissoring his ass, searching for the right spot on which he was sure T’Challa would be squirming in pleasure. The older man tried to penetrate him deeper, finally hearing his erotic and loud moan fill the room. T’Challa tried to force himself against the other man’s fingers, and Erik couldn’t possibly explain how much that turned him on, especially by the sight before him:  closed eyes and parted lips that were moaning, husky and sensual.

When Erik pulled out his fingers, every pore of the king’s body claimed his absence, but any protest was caught on his throat as Erik kissed him, urgent, taking his breath away.

“N’Jadaka…” T’Challa pleaded. “Please…”

And he didn’t care about how much his voice sounded needy or shameful, because in the end, being taken by Erik in that way, made the king feel somewhat free. Without shields, without fake smiles or expectations on his back. There was only the desire they both had, the want and the need to be complete.

And that was how he felt, every time he had those arms wrapped around him and Erik’s intimacy deep inside him: complete.

Erik stood between his legs, kissing him quickly before forcing himself against his entrance. A painful groan escaped T’Challa’s parted lips as Erik spread kisses all over his shoulder, trying to distract him from the discomfort. Once his full length was inside the king, he waited patiently for the other to get accustomed to the invasion.

“You… are… so… fucking… tight… and hot…” Erik said between kisses he placed on T’Challa’s face, making him smile.

“I am ready, N’Jadaka.”

Erik moved his hips slowly, careful not to hurt the other man, overwhelmed by the amazing feeling of being inside the king. He stared down, mesmerized by the image of T’Challa, his face contorted in pleasure, his brow furrowed, and eyes compressed tightly. He kissed his parted lips almost urgently, being promptly reciprocated in the same intensity. Killmonger’s went to the middle of T’Challa’s back, squeezing hard enough to leave marks.

Erik slid in and out of the king’s interior more urgently, as the younger man also moved his hips, urgent for a more intense contact.

“N’Jadaka…” The king whispered, “Harder… ”

Smiling, Erik fucked him harder, both moaning louder, while the sound of the slaps of their bodies filled the room. The air was already missing in Killmonger’s lungs, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. He felt like they might even become one, giving the proximity between the bodies, which clashed with unusual fury.

Removing his throbbing member from inside T’Challa, he heard the king utter a low frustrated grunt before understanding the other man’s mute request, both kneeling on the bed. Erik’s defined arms wrapped around the smaller man in an almost protective way and the lips met affectionally. Erik turned the other man, his cheek touching the headboard and pressed his chest to his back. He traced a path with his saliva all over his shoulder, making T’Challa gasp and grip the bed’s wood tightly. T’Challa couldn’t suppress the scream that left his lips he was once again filled by Erik’s cock, who started pounding against his hole almost violently since the beginning, because he knew they both needed it.

Sweat swept both bodies moving together, making them shine in the faint moonlight. T’Challa closed his hand around his throbbing erection, masturbating himself in the same rhythm he was penetrated; fast and strong. Killmonger shifted his position slightly, earning scream from T’Challa as he hit his hyper-sensitive prostate.

“Oh my God! There, N’Jadaka, right there…” He whispered, completely lost.

Erik covered the king’s hand with his own, also masturbating him as he repeatedly hit him on the same spot, reducing him only to a mess of groans.

Erik’s low moans were poured directly into his ear, driving him crazy, while he increased the speed of his movements, biting sensuously on T’Challa’s shoulder, licking the entire place with his tongue, until he reached the back of his neck, kissing the tender skin repeatedly. The movements on T’Challa’s member were so hard and he was feeling so good he couldn’t hold any longer. For second time, he spilled hot, white cum on Erik’s hands, but didn’t even have time to try to normalize his breathing: Erik was still hitting his prostate again and again, driving him crazy.

T’Challa knew N’Jadaka wouldn’t last long. The noises that were coming out of his mouth were getting louder, more desperate. The king moved his hips more sensually, more voluptuously, both moving in synchrony. He hit T’Challa’s prostate one last time before he reached his powerful climax, orgasm sweeping through him, stealing all the little oxygen he still had in his lungs. He leaned his head forward, resting it against the king shoulder. The arm, which was still wrapped around the king’s waist, grew more and more slack, until Killmonger fell exhausted on the bed, breathing heavily.

T’Challa laid by his side and pulled him against his warm body, placing a soft kiss on Erik’s wet forehead. His fingers gently stroked Erik’s cheek, who offered him a tired but happy smile. The lips met in a lazy kiss, the tongues playing with one another without any haste, satisfying themselves with the torpor of the moment.

T’Challa turned his back to Killmonger, who hugged him from behind and placed a kiss on the curve of his neck.

“Never think of yourself as weak because of your nightmares.” Erik whispered on the king’s ear all of sudden. “They will be gone, eventually… I also had nightmares…”

The confession surprised T’Challa, who stood still, enjoying the nice caress Erik was making on his arm.

“Somehow, everything I didn’t feel when each thing had actually happened to me, I did feel in my sleep. And it sucks right? Getting flashbacks of things you don’t want to remember…” Erik said, absently minded. He kissed the back of T’Challa’s hair, before sighing.  “Maybe those nightmares are just the replays of the emotions you felt in that moment, the fear, the helplessness and sadness. But... you know, you are different.”

After a while, Erik was still silent. T’Challa turned to face him and the eyes that usually were cold, had a sparkle of a brand-new emotion that almost left the king dizzy. He may be becoming a sappy, but he couldn’t possibly think he has seen Erik look more vulnerable, truthful and… beautiful than at that very moment.

“You don’t have only nightmares in your life. You can overcome your nightmares with your dreams, and I’m sure there’s a lot of beautiful dreams inside this big heart of yours.”

T’Challa half-laughed, half-sobbed, touched by the words from the man who was nothing but a stranger to him until a while ago, but now he was an important part of his life. Not only a member of his family, but someone who could see him just the way he was: a broken man trying to collect the pieces of what was left of his emotions. Maybe T’Challa felt too much, and maybe it was one of his flaws, but this very emotion made him decide to save Erik’s life. And now, even if it was probably too soon, he was sure it was worth it.

“You are different than me. You have light inside you. The dreams, the love, the care… everything is going to make you overcome the loss of your father.” Erik whispered, voice almost gentle, meeting his eyes briefly.

T’Challa shook his head. “You are not different than me, N’Jadaka. Even with a twisted sense of justice, you always tried to do the right thing. And now that you are alive, you are free to try, just like me. Try to trust your feelings, to take chances, try to find happiness and learn from the past. Everything changes, including me, including you. When people resist changing, usually it is because they focus on only what they must give up, instead of what they have to gain.”

Those words sank deep inside Erik, making something painful poke him, probably on his heart. He never thought about the things he had to lose, because since he was young, he believed he had nothing. Even now, if he stopped thinking, his life has been been nothing but a mound of bad feelings, surrounded by grief, anger and revenge.

Everyone thought of changing the world, like he had thought a million times, but… had Erik ever tried to change himself in exchange of pursuing his own happiness? Wasn’t that the real meaning of life? Seeking happiness? He was ready to give up his life and he was sure never once on his life he felt true happiness… Not after his father died. So maybe, just maybe it was about time to accept some changes, especially on his convictions in exchange of the piece of happiness he thought he deserved, even if he had done bad things in the past.

T’Challa was brave to face the sorrow he had inside him in silence, but little by little he was learning he wasn’t alone. He was learning to _let go,_ in every way possible. Erik also wanted to have the courage to forget and to trust one more time, always one more time.  And maybe, just maybe, those who suffer together were able to build stronger connections than those who were content all the time.

“Yeah. Maybe…” Erik said, smiling a little. “No one should be left to suffer alone.”

They were just two broken men, maybe more sensitive than any of them would like to admit. And sensitive people suffer more, but love more and dream more.

T’Challa intertwined their fingers, returning the smile. “You won’t. We won’t, I promise.”

And Erik believed him.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end, probably..? I hope you guys liked reading as much as I liked writing it! :333 let me know your thoughts and kudos are always welcome! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two with smut scene, maybe. I don't know though. haha, but thanks a lot for reading everyone! <3


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